GWX
by Dentelle-noir
Summary: Gangs own the inner city, grabbing power and territory from the weak. A new strong has been born: New powers are emerging on the street and when mutants band together, nothing can stop them. AU 3x4, 1x2, 5xS.
1. Chapter 1

**G-Wing X**

By: Dentellenoir

**Summary:** Gangs own the inner city, grabbing power and territory from the weak. A new strong has been born: New powers are emerging on the street and when mutants band together, nothing can stop them. AU 3x4, 1x2, 5xS.

_PG-13 for violence and rough situations_

**Chapter One:**

_"At sunset the wind suddenly dropped, but the sea, which had been running high for so long a time past, took hours after that before it showed any signs of getting to rest."_ Trowa read, deeply ensnared.

He was spread across the living room couch in his and his sister's new home. A trailer was a far cry from the four story home they used to live in when their father, a once well respected surgeon, had lived and had a good name. But that had all gone down hill with one malpractice case. A man was in a wheelchair because Dr. Barton had screwed up.

Trowa and Cathy had taken the change as best they could. Their father, while distant and immersed in his career, was still their father, and they both stood by and took the selling of the house, Trowa's move from an expensive boarding school to public school and Cathy's need of a part time job, in stride. Neither complained, neither blamed their father and neither loved him any less.

But when Trowa had come home to find police outside their new economical town house and seeing his sister crying rivers because she had walked in to find their father hanging by the neck from a plant hook in the living room, given up on life and them, then he began to blame him. But Cathy and he had always been the real family, so moving on wasn't that difficult. And that started almost six months ago, Trowa had just about gotten used to the new rhythm.

The pages of one of his hundreds of books seemed to finish quickly, and he was onto the next, then to the last chapter. He figured he had lain happily engrossed for hours and hours, and he vaguely wondered when Cathy would get home. He heard the door open slowly, almost too slowly and he heard the first step onto the linoleum entrance. He flipped over the page. He flipped the next page. He heard the door touching its frame and slide into the uneven wood with each splinter grating across the doorframe. He finished the next page.

Turning around finally, he spotted Cathy, mid-pose, pushing off the door and leaning towards the coffee table to put down the groceries she carried. Frame by frame.

"Y...OU..'RE..." She said, the sound distorting to an elongated base sound that had Trowa snapping his eyebrows up.

With a sheepish smile, he breathed in quickly and blew it out in a quick woosh.

"...doing it again! I know when there isn't anyone else around to judge, you subconsciously go into 'Trowa warp' but you were flipping pages in that damn book like it was fan. It took me almost 10 minutes to close the door! What if the neighbors would've seen me walking in then suddenly stop once I passed the door frame! You gotta remember not to distort time around you when non-mutants are around."

Trowa stood up and picked up one of the grocery bags, heading the five steps into their kitchen to put them away. "You know I'm not any faster..."

"Yeah, We're just all slower, I know you can slow up whatever is in your range of sight, and you stay at regular speed, but we don't feel it Trowa! It just looks like you've gone into super speed or something and the clocks are ticking at supers speed!" Cathy groaned as she tried to pry her payless brand heels off her feet, doing the one footed hop in nylons and pinstripes. She was working as a secretary for some too-bit auto place, but she was the most stylish auto-worker within a hundred miles and prided herself on it, even if the little accessories, like the shoes, were becoming cheaper as things wore out.

"Cathy, You're nails snag another pair of panty hose? Gotta clip those talons." Trowa snickered as he slid the cookies into the cupboard.

Closing the door, he was not surprised to see four six-inch nail-shaped knives sticking at 90 degree angles right where his head would be, the ends tipped with that lovely sea-blue Cathy had painted on them that morning. "Shut up, Trowa."

"Whatever, dagger-master" Trowa shot back as he watched Cathy's fingernails grow back within moments of her shooting them at him--it was a pretty regular occurrence around their house.

* * *

Rita Maxwell sighed, brushing the dust off her prized pictures on the mantel and reminiscing, as she packed them into non-descript cardboard boxes that would, hopefully, make the trip from their ghetto home in New York to the Georgia home her family was moving to. At least what was left of her family was moving. Her new boyfriend lived in Georgia, he wanted her to move up. And she had three kids, one 14, one 11, and another 10. He could deal with that many. He hadn't liked her oldest boy. Her Duo was 17 and he couldn't for the life of himself stay out of trouble. Three months ago, it was because of him that there were police officers at her door almost daily, looking for him. He hadn't come home.

There had been a shooting at his school. One of the teachers was almost killed and they didn't know how. They thought Duo had something to do with it, and Rita knew they were probably right. Duo had always been trouble. He was always doing something stupid. And, as much as it hurt, her other kids would say it was better since he had run away, and sometimes she agreed.

If only Solo had lived, then maybe Duo would've turned out better. Solo had been Duo's older step-brother through one of Rita's boyfriends. They had lived together for a while, but she stopped seeing him after she found Solo's father steeling her cash for a few grams. She left, taking her kids with her, but Solo followed, begging her to keep him instead of leaving him with his father. Duo would sneak him food and let Solo sleep in his room after she had thought he was sleeping. Solo pretty much lived there under her nose, but she couldn't seem to get him to leave.

Unfortunately, Solo was the kind of kid that everybody liked and she couldn't just throw him out on his ear when he turned on the charm. He was 10 at the time, and Duo was 6. She was pregnant with her second child and things weren't as tight as they were now. She would've taken him in, eventually. Solo was a good kid, he was always smiling and he had such a loud sense of right and wrong. Duo had stolen a chocolate bar from the store once, and told Solo. The entire neighborhood heard Solo screaming at him and watched Solo march Duo back to that store and watched him apologies and give back the Twix, which Duo was going to share with his 'bro, Solo'.

But as they were walking home, Duo still embarrassed, but even more in awe of Solo, a car came barreling around the corner, and Solo and Duo just happened to be passing an apartment that a rival gang was squatting in. Solo was caught in the cross fire and killed. Right in front of Duo. Solo died in Duo's arms. Duo wasn't even scratched, although no one knew where the holes in his shirt had come from.

Rita dropped the picture into the box with little care. He had been uncontrollable since then. No matter what she said, no matter how loud she said it, Duo wouldn't listen to a thing. His schools began calling almost weekly, but thankfully he avoided major trouble.

Until the shooting.

Rita threw the last picture, the newest of Duo, taken just before the shooting, into the box, then kicked it away from her. There had been officers swarming her house for days, she had condescending detectives camping out in her living room, hopping Duo would call or walk in so they could question him. After the shooting, no one had seen him and he never came back.

And now she had a new boyfriend, one who had a stable job and a two-story house. Her other kids didn't hate him, and he wasn't mean to them. She couldn't fault him for not being particularly warm to them, but at least he wasn't malicious. That swipe at Alex had been an accident. Georgia sounded like a nice place.

* * *

"Daddy, I hated it there! I just couldn't stay anymore. I left a note; the head mistress will get it when they notice I wasn't in class." Quatre Winner, 16, argued like a professional into his cell phone-- the only way he even seemed interact with his father. And sitting in the back of a cab, turning towards Park avenue, still wearing his boarding school uniform while clutching his suitcase for support and breaking the news to his father that he would no longer attend the school his father loved so dearly (it had year round boarding, so Quatre didn't even have to go home for holidays then), he felt the sense of power.

It didn't really matter what his father said from the other side of that phone, because Quatre was already rolling up to the front gate of their Park Avenue home, and the cabbie was removing his suitcases from the trunk. He had already left the school and was home. He had done what he had been threatening for almost six months and no matter how blue in the face his father got, he was miles away at a business meeting that meant more to him than Quatre's well being ever had.

Sliding a pair of high price sunglasses over his shining blue eyes, he unlocked the gate and rolled his suitcases to the door step, paid the cab driver, and unlocked the door.

"Dad." Quatre cut off his father's multi-lingual outburst, "I'm at the Park Avenue house. If you want to talk to me, then come and see me. I won't be answering my phone, so don't try and call." And with that, and every swell of courage that this liberation was giving him, he hung up the cell phone and threw it onto the sheet-covered chair.

He heaved his other four suitcases inside and then, with the door closed behind him and an empty house all to himself in front of him he let out a scream of pure pleasure. Bursting, he plunged into the white dust cover on the sofa and with a mighty haul he flung it off and onto the floor, than ran like a bat out of hell to the next and then up the stairs, laughing like a maniac all the way.

Just because he could.

* * *

Crissa played silently with her dolls on a relatively clean part of the squat she was in. There were tons of people around her, like usual. Most of the people she recognized. The White Fang was a big gang, but a relatively tight group. They always stayed together, Milliardo, the leader, liked it that way. Milly said it was because they were all family, and family stuck together. Crissa's daddy said it was really because Milly didn't want to let any of them out of his sights, because they would stab him in the back.

Crissa wasn't surprised. She had seen lots of people stabbed in her five years of life. In real life and in her head. Most of the time it was both of the same person. Sometimes it was her daddy that did it. But that wasn't too bad. He didn't like to do it, he had to. And he was a good daddy, and she loved him. He took care of her, and played with her. Her daddy paid attention to her while her mommy had slapped her and locked her in her room. Her daddy fought a lot, but he was always gentle with her. He would never let anything happen to her. And neither would Milly.

But Milly liked her for a whole other reason. Milly liked to ask her what she had seen in her head. She was always right. Even though it was hard to explain the things she saw, her daddy and Milly had said she was always right.

Her daddy was a good person. He was really, really young when Crissa was born. Her daddy was only 19 now, but he worked in a convenience store to buy food and toys and clothes for her. Some of the other people who they squatted with were jealous of her, and lots tried to get her daddy's attention using her. But she could see right through them. She knew her daddy had a fate higher than one of the hookers or crack heads that tried to get his attention.

A booted foot came down hard on her doll's hair, pinning it to the ground. "Outa my way, snatch-ling." Ground out a cocky young boy's voice. Crissa looked up, seeing die-red hair pasted into points and a grimy T-shirt. She didn't recognize the face, so he must've been one of the newest members.

The boy snapped his fingers and an ember burned, a tiny flame dancing on his fingertips. He was a fire mutant. She hadn't seen any of those in Milly's gang ever. "Move." He taunted, grinding her doll into the floor with his boot, even though there was plenty of room for him to go around.

Crissa didn't like fights. She didn't like to see people hurt. So she glared and pulled her doll out from under his boot silently, and stood, ready to move it that was what it took to make him feel big.

But when she was up, the boy grabbed her elbow and shoved her hard back down to the floor. A pulsing sting began in her knee, and her lip began to tremble.

"Shit!" One of the more experienced members exclaimed, hitting the boy in the shoulder. "What the hell are you doing!" He berated the new guy.

"It's okay... you'll be fine..." the older member frantically tried to calm her. Crissa latched onto the words, not wanting to start anything. She was trying to calm herself. It was just a skinned knee, nothing more. If she made a scene, the boy would be sorry.

The boy slunk off the older member's hand. "I ain't gonna bow to a fucking kid." He snarled. And with a snap he sent that little spark onto the ground, and into the hair of her doll. The thing lit up in a moment, and Barbie began to burn.

Crissa felt her lip tremble, and she just couldn't hold it back anymore. She started to cry, tears streaming down her face as she watched her doll burn and soon she was sobbing, wailing, while the experienced members ran.

Milly looked up from his planning when he heard the raising of voices. But his attention was called back by the snaky looking member that was talking to him, "my cousin is on the inside, he knows some people that are going to be on parole soon. One, he said was damn strong, and tough. Said this guy don't take shit from no one, and he's a mutant. He's interested in defending our kind from the injustice of the masses, or some poetic shit. Real smart guy, my cousin says..." But when Milly heard a sniffle, then a sob, and saw most of his gang spring towards the edges of the room he didn't even have the time to reach over the table to his right hand man and restrain him before he had jumped up from his chair, sending it flying backwards and splintering with the force. He was already half way across the room by the time Milly had figured out who was crying.

The new guy had just enough time to marvel at the two beautiful angel-white wings arched powerfully up, as if ready to fly, and the deadly blue eyes on the almost impassive face of a man wielding a lead pipe before he lunged for the boy's neck. Half strangled, the boy was wide eyed and terrified, recognizing the man about to kill him was the famous Zero.

Zero let his throat go, just to imbed his fist into the boy's face. Once, twice, than three times. He didn't recognize the boy. He had to be new, and young by the looks of it. Heero dropped him, letting his trembling body hit the dirty floor in a puddle of god knew what, and then kicked one steel-toed and buckled boot into the boy's stomach, making the kid roll onto himself in the fetal position. "If you ever go near my daughter again, I'll kill you." Zero said so calmly, so matter-of-factly that the entire room shuddered.

Heero crouched down over the charred remains of the doll and brushed it away. Moving in closer to his daughter, he saw the little trickle of blood, dried now, on her knee and gave it a light kiss. The best medicine for any skinned knee. Crissa had calmed her cry down to a sniffling that just wouldn't go away and she couldn't seem to stop her lip from trembling.

Heero thought it was adorable. He reached out his hands, his strong arms coming under his daughter's arms and he lifted her up, standing as he did so, and deposited Crissa on his hip. "How about we go to the store and buy a new doll tomorrow, after I get paid? You try to decide what doll you want, okay baby?" Heero asked softly, letting his daughter cling to him like a koala.

Crissa nodded, but didn't leave her daddy's side all that day, and crept into his bed that night, snuggling against him against the cold that drafted into the homeless squat from the rotting walls when the night wind blew

* * *

TBC

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	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

_Three Months Earlier_

"Duo, do you realizes how bad this is going to look on your school record? Do you—damn it Duo, are you high? Are you even listening to me?"

Duo rolled his eyes for the hundredth time. Ms Po was such a do-gooder it made Duo want to hurl, preferably on her pretty little 'trying to be hip-looking' T-shirt. There was nothing worse than a guidance councilor that really thought the students could do something with themselves. Duo figured he had accomplished something by making it 17 years without jail time. He just got into fights from time to time. It wasn't like Po had anything to even be bitching about, in his opinion. He only fought this time because some ass wanted to stamp on his foot then get in his face, saying it was his fault. He wasn't about to just let some asshole intimidate him. No one was really hurt anyway. The school security guards had pulled them apart before either him or Rocky wannabe could. If he was honest with himself he knew that Rock was more than twice Duo's size and the security man probably saved his life, but he didn't need to be honest with himself.

And if he was honest with Po, he would've answered that "no, he wasn't high—not anymore". His buzz wore off a few minutes into her lecture. And that was excruciatingly long ago. "I'm fucking listening, Po. Fighting equals bad. Yeah, heard it a billion. Can I go now?" He just wanted out so he could skip class and go home. The guidance appointment would be the perfect opportunity.

"I'll walk you to Mr. Kipling's class, then." She said with such a knowing smile that Duo's nature won out and he couldn't help smiling back. She was good, he had to admit. Check and Mate, or whatever it was.

Rock was in Kipling's math class. Duo walked in and saw that all 220 pounds of him was still pissed. Po smiled sweetly as she watched Duo seat himself and then turned back out the door. Kipling continued babbling on.

Duo ignored the left side of the room, and he felt a poke in his shoulder. It was Alan, one of Duo's best friends and the guy he partied with. Alan was a good guy as far as Duo was concerned. He was a lot on the scrawny side, but Duo hadn't partied without him for almost three years. "Rock is pissed, dude. You shouldn't have started with him. He's gunna kill you, Duo." Alan sounded genuinely worried, "Duck out after class and hide out in the bathrooms until he cools down."

Duo turned and leveled a stare at Alan, "I'm not scared—Shit man, you really _are_ worried, aren't you?"

"You didn't see Rock after the near fight. He's mad, says you made him loose his ring, or something. He's seriously gunna murder you." Alan tried, but Duo had already tuned him out.

Class ended and Duo strolled out. He got a few paces into the hallway before the jeering started, "Bitch! Hey Maxwell, we're talking to you, bitch. You made me loose my ring, girl. I'm gunna make you pay for it."

Duo turned around, the girl comment enough to get him started every damn time. And he turned just in time to give Rock's fist a better target. He felt his teeth shake as Rock's boxing-trained fist connected with his cheek. The force sent him sprawling backwards, hitting the lockers behind him with a ringing clang. Rock decided to end it before security got there. Rock took aim for his best punch. A heavy hit up and into Maxwell's gut.

Duo knew what was coming, but Rock had him pinned against the lockers with his bulk, and Duo couldn't do anything. Rock positioned is fist, and it went straight through.

Rock's fist hit the lockers, right in the studs of the metal where it refused to crumble with the punch. Instead of the 'OOF' he expected to hear from Maxwell, he heard bones cracking—his bones. Rock pulled his fist back, watching with wide eyes as his hand came right out from Duo's middle as if Duo was nothing but a ghost. Rock felt the lightning pain shooting from his fist and looked to see a malformed dent where Duo should have been.

Duo ran, getting away as soon as he could and hid in the bathrooms like Alan had said he should. But for the life of him, Duo couldn't figure out what had happened.

He went home bruised, but not seriously hurt. His mom hadn't asked if he was okay-- She didn't care and he knew it.

X

Rock slid a 20 dollar bill inside the wrapper in his school bag as he went through the metal detectors and check at school, the day after the fight. The guard pocketed the cash and gave him the package, which he slid into his coat pocket. His hand itched bad inside its plaster cast, his hand and wrist all but useless inside the sling he was forced to hold it in. He had fractured part of his arm with the punch, as well as his wrist and fingers. It was all that bitch's fault. Rock had seen his hand pass right through him and slam into the reinforced edge of the locker. It was all that bitch's fault he wouldn't be able to box for a long, long time, and he was going to pay.

X

Duo slid into his seat with a boneless tilt. He had been up all night raving and decidedit was best to haul his ass to school, instead of listen to his mother screeching and the horrible daytime drivel she loved to watch. One more stupid court show and Duo was ready to claw his eyes out.

Alan slid in behind him, just as tired as and even more wired than his party mate. Alan had the cash last night for a lot more hits than Duo could afford, or mooch, and Alan still hadn't come down from the last one. His eyes were skittering all over the room with a mouse-like jittering that had Duo on edge. Duo couldn't stand to think that he had been probably the same way only hours before.

The class dragged on, Alan trembling behind him making it just that much more unbearable, so when the PA dinged and the over the hill secretary asked for him to go down to the office, he was almost relieved. He knew it was about the fight, but he didn't care. He hadn't been in the wrong and he knew the cameras in every hallway could probably attest to that fact. He thought about blowing off the visit and just walking out the doors, but then he would have to find someplace to crash and math class next period was as good a place as any. At least in math he had some friends who would watch his back or kick him if the teacher was glaring.

He was announced, called in, and flopped down on the chair set out for students such as him, directly in front of the big oak power desk. Duo wasn't impressed. This wasn't the first time he'd been where he was now, and it probably wouldn't be the last.

This time though, instead of just a one-on-one with the man behind the desk, Ms Po was there too, standing off to the left of the principle. Duo waved in sarcasm, figuring the principle was going to call his mom for a conference and a whole lot of bull he didn't need.

"Mr. Maxwell," Principal Santiago began, his fingers steepled in front of himself in an attempt to look authoritative, "I want the name of the person who started the fight yesterday. And I want to know how Richview high's most prestigious—"

"That's not fair!" Ms Po accused, but her complaint went unheard.

"—Most prestigious boxer broke his hand?" The principle finished, watching Duo like a cop. That was why Duo had always hated the man; he always assumed everyone was guilty until proven innocent, except for the students Santiago felt were 'misunderstood, but good kids'. It helped that the kids Santiago thought were good were the kids of people Santiago hung with. Duo's mom was not one of those friends.

"I believe Duo deserves the benefit of the doubt, Mr. Santiago." Ms Po spoke up, leveling the principle with a glare any man would be proud of. "I asked to attend this meeting to get a different view of the situation. I would like to hear Duo's account, without leading questions."

There was a battle of wills going on between the two, and Duo suddenly felt like the rope in tug of war and Duo had the distinct image of what happened to that rope when neither side budged.

"This isn't about me. I ain't no issue, or charity case, for you two to bat back and forth. Rock missed me and punched the lockers. His hand broke. Boo-fucking-Hoo. Can I go now? You two can fight over a different scrap of meat." Duo stood, not waiting for the answer, and slung his bag over his shoulder, taking a second to move his braid out of the way before slamming the door behind him.

Sally Po glared at Santiago. "He's a good kid. He tries to stay out of trouble. I know he's not the most respectful, or polite kid around, and I know he rubs you the wrong way, but that's a pathetic reason for being hard—"

"Damn it, Po. I don't want to make everything a fight with you! I wasn't accusing him of anything! I was trying to bait him to talk!" Principle Santiago said sincerely, softening as he looked at the martyr of his staff.

"I was only trying to stick up for Mr. Maxwell." Sally said, leaning against the door frame so she looked less challenging. "He is just a troubled teen. He needs understanding, not challenges. I want to talk to him."

"If I were you, Ms Po, I'd do just that." Santiago said with a raised brow.

"I understand." Sally said, sighing and looking at the Principle.

"Then why are you still here? He's that-a-way." Santiago pointed towards the hall and went back to the paperwork on his desk as Sally took off into the drove of students just dismissed.

"Bitch! I'm talking to YOU!" Rock called, moving right in front of Duo. The hallway was full of students moving towards their next class, teachers were still inside the classrooms, and Rock had his four 'bruthurs' backing him. Rock used his good hand to grab Duo's shirt, the black T-shirt stretching enough to give Duo air, but still hold him within arms reach. There was no getting away from him this time.

Duo snarled, than swung, his hand hitting Rocks jaw in a claw, Duo's nails digging into his adversary's cheek and leaving four gashes oozing blood.

With a sickening rip Duo's shirt tore, the two pieces hanging off his shoulders showing his too-scrawny front. "Check that out, too poor to eat or something? Couldn't get a john who liked dick?" One of Rock's bitches cackled, sending the hall into peels of laughter.

Duo lunged, hitting Rock with another fist, this time putting all his muscle into it. He felt Rock's face move from it, making the punch glance off to the side and Duo began to lose balance. Rock rocketed a punch to his gut before Duo even saw what was coming. Duo fell back, catching himself a few paces away and winded, starring at the much larger guy taking a few menacing steps towards him. Rock lifted his good hand, setting it up for another punch and Duo saw his only hope.

Moving towards Rock, momentarily stunning him, Duo came almost body to body with the wall of muscle then grabbed onto the casted hand and brought his knee up, slamming the cast as hard as he could to do the most damage.

Rock howled in pain, and with his other hand he knocked Duo to the side, sending him skidding into a wall of lockers. Almost making Duo fall into the adjoining hall that led to the office.

Cradling his injured hand to his chest, Rock glared at Duo with murder in his eyes. With a snarl, Rock reached into his jacket and wrapped his hand around his last resort. A brown lunch bag fell away from his hand as Rock pointed and Duo saw himself looking at the barrel of a gun.

Duo shot as far back as he could, slamming into the edge of the lockers and curling around himself as the gun exploded. Once, Twice, Three times.

Duo opened his eyes when he felt nothing hurting and saw the hallway looking with wide eyes his way.

"SOMEONE HELP!" A girl screamed form behind him. Duo turned, his head going through the lockers as if they were a hologram and he saw Ms Po lying on the floor directly behind him, blood pooling around her from three blossoming wounds.

'Where the fuck did Maxwell go!" Rock shouted. Duo bolted back upright, his head again phasing through the lockers until he was starring straight at Rock and the others. No one noticed him.

Alan, who had been watching, moved to put his hand on the lockers, and gasped as his hand went right through. "WHAT THE FUCK!"

Duo was freaked out, and made to stand. But he couldn't see his legs. He went to reach for them—but he couldn't see his arms. He wasn't there! Was this all some screwed up dream? No. No, he knew he existed. He could feel the sickening fear curling in his non-visible belly, and he could feel the tightness in this throat. He could even feel the trickle of sweat dripping down his brow. He could feel the floor with where his hands should have been, and he could see the floor, but he—he wasn't there! He was completely invisible.

Someone else touched the wall of lockers and went right through. They weren't invisible like Duo, they could be seen, but they were intangible. Like a hologram. Duo shot away from the wall just as the girl removed her hand. Going to do it again her hand stopped as it hit the lockers; they were solid again.

Within seconds police were swarming the halls, moving students for the paramedics to get in with a stretcher between two of them.

Duo jolted upright, and felt a pull in his guts.

A blood curdling scream erupted from right in front of Duo, and a girl pointed directly at his nose, almost touching him.

He was visible again.

"Move!" The paramedics ordered, cutting through the chaos to get Ms Po's body sprawled out on the stretcher. Blood dripped off her arms where it flowed from her bullet wounds to leave a trail down the halls and out the door.

Duo ran. He threw open the school doors and sprinted as fast as he could. He didn't look back—not for 3 months.

* * *

The bell gave a bright chime, alerting the lone resident of the Park Avenue town house that there was a visitor at the door. Quatre tidied his hair, and straightened his shirt, making sure he looked like he'd been reading the news paper or doing something adult like, not watching Saturday morning cartoons in his father's bedroom with a plethora of forbidden Pizza pockets ('it's trailer park food, Quatre!' His father would say) and half melted ice-cream bars. 

He took the stairs two at a time, coming down to the foyer just as the bell was rung for a second time. Quatre steadied himself, and got ready for the upcoming confrontation. His father was on the other side of the door, he knew. He had made true on not answering his phone, but he did listen to the impatient messages his father left him. The last one had said, "Fine, you stubborn idiot. I suppose I'll have to do something about you, since you have no sense of your own!"

Reaching for the door knob, Quatre pulled, but felt disappointment, even before he had seen the man on the other side. Instead of his father there stood Rashid, one of his father's least favorite body guards. Rashid had been assigned to watch over Quatre ever since Quatre could remember. It was Rashid that always showed up when his father should have, offering excuse after excuse. Quatre shouldn't have been surprised that his father would send Rashid. His father disliked the man because Rashid had morals and values and a sense of importance that Omar Winner disliked, but the man was incredible at his job. So in retaliation, he put Rashid on 'Quatre duty' when Rashid had first come to them, and Rashid had stuck.

Knowing Rashid would not be offended, Quatre let his disappointment and frustration show. Opening the door to let Rashid in and closing it behind him, Quatre blew his bangs out of his face, and resigned himself to overcoming this step. Rashid didn't bother with formality and took a seat on the now uncovered couch, patting the empty space next to him.

"Master Quatre, why did you leave school? At the beginning of the year you were eager to go." Rashid began in his deep gravelly voice.

Quatre nodded glumly, and putted into the kitchen and came back a moment later with a tray full of the chocolate-y-est cookies he could find in the store combined with marshmallow things, and other sugary wonders that Quatre just seemed to inhale when he was upset. Placing it on the living room table in front of the couch, then taking a spot beside the man, he stuffed cookies in his mouth and let Rashid take a cookie as well. Quatre was trying to give him the 'it's a long story' signals, and Rashid was getting comfortable.

"...Stuff...happened..." Quatre said, looking at anything but Rashid. But the large man was silent, waiting for Quatre to continue.

"I...People didn't like me anymore. No one there liked me!"

"What about that new friend you had made Master Quatre, you never stopped talking about him?"

"He changed schools. And then...Well, the kids started thinking I was doing stuff. I wasn't! I wasn't doing anything! They started calling me names, and then no one would be seen with me! It was horrible! I never really liked it there, everyone knew that, and I only bared it because father really wanted me there. But after that...I just!"

Rashid began to rub soothing circles on Quatre's back, feeling the atmosphere thick with sadness.

"What could they say about such a wonderful person and have it hurt you so?" Rashid asked, pulling his young charge into a semi-hug for support.

"They said I was a mutant! But I can't do anything, Rashid! I'm just as normal as everyone else! I don't understand." Quatre finished, sobbing into Rashid's side. He could feel Rashid shedding tears as well, and was grateful for the sympathy. "Why can't father just come himself, Rashid? I can't talk to him over a phone, when he's doing a hundred other things and talking to me is the furthest thing from his mind."

All Quatre got was a sympathetic squeeze, to remind him that at least Rashid was at his side, if no one else.

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Thanks for reading, Please Read and Review! 


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